


you're like vertigo (or dizziness, or nausea, or confusion)

by badacts



Series: we're bad at this, but it's okay [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Headaches & Migraines, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 11:40:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11966610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badacts/pseuds/badacts
Summary: Nursey is annoying as fuck in the general sense, but he’s a fairly decent roommate - tidy but not neurotically so, uses his earphones, and doesn’t sexile Dex, all of which makes him an improvement on Troy who Dex roomed with freshman year.It could be worse. Dex could be nursing an enormous, unrequited, painful crush on his roommate and liney which would make every second of spending time together literal torture.Oh, wait.





	you're like vertigo (or dizziness, or nausea, or confusion)

A month into sharing a room, they’ve kind of got into the swing of living together while avoiding murdering each other. 

Nursey is annoying as fuck in the general sense, but he’s a fairly decent roommate - tidy but not neurotically so, uses his earphones, and doesn’t sexile Dex, all of which makes him an improvement on Troy who Dex roomed with freshman year.

It could be worse. Dex could be nursing an enormous, unrequited, painful crush on his roommate and liney which would make every second of spending time together literal torture.

Oh, wait.

His only hope is that when he finally loses it and actually kills Nursey out of savagely repressed lust it’ll be considered a justifiable homicide. 

Who is he kidding. It’s going to end up on a show like Dateline, with something in the synopsis about a ‘crime of passion’. He’s fucked.

Anyway, that all aside, so far they’re making it work. Their usual pre-practice schedule means that when Dex’s alarm goes off and wakes them both, Dex gets up and takes the bathroom first, and by the time he’s done Nursey is generally upright, dressed, and something close to awake.

That’s why it’s a little surprising to come out of the bathroom and find the only sign of Nursey is his hair sticking up out of his duvet burrito. 

“Nurse,” Dex says, because what the hell, they have a  _system_. It has nothing to do with any concern he may or may not feel,  _clearly_. “You getting up?”

There’s an indecipherable mumble from Nursey’s cocoon. Dex says, “What was that?”

A hand pulls the blanket back so Nursey’s face is revealed. He’s squinting so hard his eyes are basically shut. He whispers, “No.”

“Are you dying?” Say what you like about him, when it comes to practice Nursey is no slacker. Especially on a game week.

Nursey probably shrugs, by the way the duvet bobs half an inch. He does look a little like he’s dying. Dex steps closer and lays a hand on his forehead, finding him no more than sleep-warm. He does sigh in aching relief at the feeling of Dex’s palm, though, which is just -  _fuck_.

“Migraine,” Nursey whispers again. “Leave me to die.”

Oh. Dex has never had one, but his aunt gets them sometimes. He stands and turns the lights off straight away, and again earns that relieved sigh.

“You got any medication?” he asks, keeping his voice low.

“In the bathroom, under the sink,” Nursey replies. “Please.”

He sounds terrible enough Dex aches in sympathy. He can probably his stupid heart for that.

“Got your back,” Dex replies. “One second.”

He can hear movement from downstairs as Bitty digs out a pre-practice snack for himself, and from the bathroom. He knocks once at the doorframe. “Yo, Chow, you decent?” 

“Come in!” Chowder says, typically cheerful even at this hour of the morning. When Dex pushes the door open, he’s quick to close it behind himself to stop the light flooding the bedroom, while being careful not to slam it. 

“You guys ready?” Chowder asks, putting his toothbrush back in the cup on the sink.

“I am. Nursey’s not well,” Dex replies, popping open the cupboard under the sink. It’s half full of empty cans of shaving cream and mostly-used shower gels, but there are a couple of medicine bottles on one side. “You know which is these is for migraines?”

“Oh, yeah, my mom gets them, let me look,” Chowder says, ducking down and twisting them around to see the labels. “This will be it.”

The directions say to take one and dissolve it under the tongue. Dex takes the whole bottle with a quick see-you-in-a-minute to Chowder before going back into the dark bedroom. Thankfully he knows his way well enough he isn’t going to kneecap himself returning to the bottom bunk.

“Here you go,” he says. “Hold out your hand, okay?”

Fingers bump into his chest, and Dex carefully shakes one pill into the cup of Nursey’s palm where he can just barely make it out. Nursey takes it back into his burrito and mutters, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Dex says. “Let us know if you need anything. I’ll tell the coaches know you’re out for today.”

There’s no response, but Dex wasn’t expecting one. He leaves the room in darkness after groping for his bag, then goes to practice, determined to not think about Nursey for the rest of the day.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Dex makes it back to the Haus, it’s late afternoon. He’s had a few messages from Chowder and Bitty confirming that Nursey is still alive, but he’s kind of itching to see it for himself. 

He tells himself that it was just the pathetic state he left Nursey in this morning, but he’s never been that great at lying to himself. So much for not thinking about him today.

“Hey, Dex,” Bitty says from the kitchen when Dex comes in. He seems to be actually doing his homework for once at the table, but there’s the usual sweet-tart smell of a pie baking permeating the room too. He’s probably waiting for the timer to go off. “If you’re going upstairs, can you take this up for Nursey?”

He holds up a full water bottle, and tosses it to Dex when he holds out a hand. Dex catches it easily. “He’s been okay?”

“Sleeping, mostly. He seems better this afternoon,” Bitty replies. He’s so, so got Dex’s number, and it’s terrible, except for that Bitty is way too nice to do anything but look vaguely sympathetic when Dex is particularly obvious. So it’s terrible, but objectively less terrible than it could be if Bitty, say, tried to talk to him about it.

“Go on, go,” Bitty shoos him off. Case in point. “He needs to stay hydrated if he can.”

“Thanks Bits,” Dex says, meaning for more than the water bottle, and ducks out of the kitchen before Bitty’s expression changes. He trots up the stairs and ducks into their room, careful to close the door softly.

The curtains are open now, but Nursey has migrated from under the covers to on top of them. He’s dressed, for a given value of dressed, in sweatpants and his SMH hoodie. Lying flat on his back with his arms crossed over his chest, he looks a little like a dead body.

“Hey,” Dex murmurs. 

Nursey tilts his head in Dex’s direction, and his eyes open all the way this time, though briefly. “Hey. How’s it going?”

“Better than you,” Dex replies. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got run over. Twice.”

“Poetic,” Dex chirps him gently. “This water is for you. Apparently you need to hydrate.”

Nursey flops out an arm in his direction. “Neat. Give it here.”

“You’re such a charmer,” Dex says, but uncaps the water bottle. “Sit up, dude.”

“I was hoping I might drown, actually,” Nursey mutters, but pushes himself up onto an elbow. He takes the bottle and drinks for himself, then pushes it back into Dex’s hand. “Thanks, Dex. I’m just gonna sleep, but you can stay.”

“Oh, thanks for the permission to stay in  _my_  room.”

“You’re welcome,” Nursey replies, without irony, as he lowers himself back onto the mattress. “Keep it down with the dad-rock, ‘kay?”

“I’ll try my best,” Dex says. “You need a blanket?”

“Don’t be nice to me, you dick, otherwise I’ll start thinking I’m really going to die.” The edge of Nursey’s mouth is twitching, though. “Do your homework. I’m sleeping.”

“Sure,” Dex replies, going for the desk on the other side of the room. Nursey prefers studying either on his bunk or at the table downstairs, so Dex has sole ownership over the desk. He quietly unpacks his things and sits down to work, sinking into concentration quickly. He gets more work done than he has the rest of the day, which has  _nothing_ to do with worrying over Derek Nurse.

At some point Nursey rolls over and lets out a long sigh. When Dex throws him a glance he’s deeply asleep, hands curled up to his chin and his face buried in his pillow. He looks more comfortable, the hard lines eased out of his face. Dex feels his heart wobble and looks back at his work.

Maybe half an hour later, Dex looks up because the room is getting dim. He looks over his shoulder and finds Nursey looking back at him.

He’s smiling. “Hey.”

His voice is warm, eyes liquid. Dex has probably had a dream like this. His own voice comes out hoarse when he replies, “Hi. How’re you feeling?”

“Better.” Nursey stretches his arms out in front of himself, groaning and arching his back. “Sorry. Postdrome stupidity.”

“What?”

“It’s like,” Nursey says, and then hums. “It stops hurting and then you get euphoric but stupid at the same time.”

“Okay,” Dex says. “Do you need to eat?”

That earns an eye roll. “No, mom.”

“Don’t be a douche, Nurse.”

“I’ll just vom it back up. Better to wait,” Nursey says, with a horizontal shrug. “Hey. Hey. Dex. I could go for that blanket now.”

“You’re lying on them,” Dex points out flatly.

“Please?”

Fuck sake. Maybe murder-suicide is his best option here. Dex is a sucker, though, which is why he stands and hooks his own top blanket off of his bunk and throws it over Nursey.

Nursey pushes his face into it as he curls the edges around himself. He’s still smiling, broad and pleased. “You’re the best.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Dex replies, like he isn’t feeling more emotions than one human should be capable of. He wants to break his fist on the bedframe. He wants to lean down and kiss Nursey on the mouth. He wants to run out of the room and drink until he can’t remember the particular cant of Nursey’s grin, the soft look in his heavy-lidded eyes.

“Go to sleep,” he says, instead of doing any of those things. Nursey hums, eyes fluttering closed again.

“ _You_  go to sleep,” he replies, and five seconds later he’s breathing deep and slow again, utterly unconscious.

Dex hates himself. That’s the only reason that explains why he rests a palm on Nursey’s forehead again and lets him push into it in his sleep, just for a moment.

Yeah. He’s fucked. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come hit me up on [tumblr](http://badacts.tumblr.com/) :)))


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